


Dean Gets a Lap Dance

by viscouslover



Series: Lap Dance 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Explicit Language, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscouslover/pseuds/viscouslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas owes Dean a private dance. Dean's more than happy to collect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Gets a Lap Dance

Dean’s head is pounding. Without opening his eyes, he can feel the ass-crack of noon trying to bleed into his brain. He rolls onto his stomach and buries his face further into his pillow, hiding from the affront of a new morning. Afternoon? Whatever.

He definitely doesn’t let out a petulant whine.

Suddenly he remembers Cas. Cas, who let out a pretty little moan when Dean tied his hands. Who flushed when Dean whispered in his ear. Who told him to keep going when Dean thought it would be too much. Who had surprisingly toned thighs lurking underneath those tragically cut suit pants. Hot-as-all-fucking-hell _Cas_.

Dean’s eyes shoot open and he frantically throws an arm out to the right side of his mattress.

It’s empty.

Dean sits up in bed and looks around the room. Where the fuck is the hottie with the body? Did he pull a dine and dash? Feasting on Dean’s hot cock and then leaving before Dean could even get his number? That’s fucking rude.

Dean pulls on the nearest sweats and trudges into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Sam greets without looking up from his paper.

“I made it out before noon?”

Sam glances at his watch, “Nevermind.”

Dean grunts and grabs the cereal from the pantry, scratching absently at his exposed stomach. Lucky Charms are the lunch of fucking champions. He sits down across from Sam and starts separating out the weird grainy bits. Damn FDA, why can't it all be marshmallows?

“So,” he aims for nonchalant, “Where’s Cas?”

“Who?”

“Cas.” Dean lifts a hand to his forehead, “‘Bout yea high, blue eyes, fuck-me bedhead?”

“Anna’s brother?”

Dean mumbles around a mouthful of Charms, “Who?”

“Anna.” Sam sets his paper aside and give that long-suffering look that he most definitely practises in the mirror, because, c’mon, no one is that hard done by. “The redhead bride-to-be from last night. We ran into her and her party at Rufus’ after hours?”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean vaguely remembers something about the sister. It was hard to pay complete attention what with all his blood being in his dick at the time. “He mighta mentioned that.”

“Right. And why would I know where he is?”

“You didn’t see him walk out of here?”

“Why would he do that?”

Dean shuts his eyes and takes deep, calming breaths. Sometimes Sammy is a thick as a fucking brick. “Because he didn’t just float out the window, Sam.”

Sam has the audacity to look bewildered.

“You thinking he ditched down the fire escape?” Dean lifts his bowl to his lips and starts to slurp the delicious sugar-milk.

“No, Dean. I don’t think that." Sam’s starting to get that soft look on his face that makes Dean very, very worried.

“Don’t keep me in suspense, man. If you know something, ‘fess up.”

“Cas didn’t come back here last night, Dean. You wandered off and the next time I saw you it was last round, you were shitfaced, and you were belting _All Outta Love_ at the top of your lungs." Sam’s a fucking liar; Dean’s never even _listened_ to Air Supply. “Benny and I carried you home. You vomited on the way so we stripped you, you kicked us out of your room, and here we are.”

Dean tries to think back on the night.

He saw Cas during his first number on stage. The dude looked like he belonged anywhere other than a strip club. He’s probably a tax accountant or an ad salesman for boring-ass talk radio or plugging away at some other garbage nine-to-five. But, something about his, Dean doesn’t know, arrogance? Authority? Professional detachment? It was appealing. Cas looked like the kind of guy that could really put Dean in his place, and Dean liked that.

Then, Dean got hired for that lap dance and he saw a whole other side of Cas. Flustered and frantic and... Dean doesn’t think people are cute. Dean’s a manly dude with a reputation to uphold. Cas was definitely not cute.

Whatever it was about Cas, it had Dean breaking the rules during that dance. And Dean never breaks the rules. Much. Sometimes he maybe bends them, just a little.

When he saw him at the bar again later, Dean was pretty sure it was kismet. Not capital-D destiny or whatever; you don’t find your soul mate while you’re getting paid to mime-fuck his face in a room full of strangers. But, still, something worth a second look.

He remembers approaching Cas. Being really fucking suave about it, too. They’d flirted a bit and Dean was pretty sure it was in the bag and then- Ah, fuck. That smarmy British prick had said they were moving on. Something about a full weekend itinerary or some other cockblocking bullshit.

Dammit. Then Dean grabbed a bottle of Jack from behind the bar and maybe he thought it was a little bit of a good idea to bogart the karaoke machine for the rest of the night.

Still doesn’t mean he knows Air Supply.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Sorry, Dean." Sam gives one last sympathetic pout and goes back to reading his paper.

“Did I at least get his number?”

Sam doesn’t look up, “How would I know?”

Dean leans back in his chair and starts rubbing his hand across his bare chest. It’s too bad he can’t see Cas again. The dude was obviously pretty into it last night. Cas tried to hide it, but Dean’s a pro. He could feel Cas’ _enthusiasm_ for Dean’s moves grinding into his ass.

Sam clears his throat. He’s doing that thing where he thinks he’s being nonchalant, but he’s just radiating suspicious activity. “Um, I might know where he’ll be later today.”

Well, then. Sam can be as shady as fuck if it means Dean gets a second shot at seeing Cas.

  
\----

  
“Winchesters!” Ellen’s accusing voice greets them the second they step into Harvelle’s. “The world must be ending. Why else would you actually grace my club with your presence?”  
Sufficiently chastised, the brothers lower their heads in deference.

“Sorry, Ellen,” they mumble in unison.

Ellen pulls them into a bear hug, “None of that, now.”

Dean pulls back to smile and Ellen cuffs him on the ear. He totally doesn’t squeak in surprise.

“What was that for?”

“For making me worry about you two!” Ellen’s still using her Mom tone, but her smile is stretching clear across her face. “Would it kill ya to pick up the phone? I gotta hear from Rufus that you boys are alive and kickin’?"

“Man, it’s not our fault that Rufus has the only bar open after The Bunker shuts down.” Dean rubs at his sore ear. Ellen may be joking, but that hook of hers is the real deal.

“Oh, I heard all about your after-hours activities there, Dean." Jo strolls up behind her mother looking as smug as can be.

Dean blushes, “Oh yeah?”

“Air Supply? Really?”

Dean groans and covers his face. He doesn’t even _listen_ to Air Supply!

“So what brings you boys in today?” Ellen reels the conversation back in.

“Um,” Dean thinks on his feet. He doesn’t exactly wanna say that they’re here to potentially stalk the dude he’s maybe a little bit thinking about fucking up against the nearest solid surface. He glances at Sam, but that traitor has already wandered away. “You see, uh-”

A massive crash rumbles through from the back of the club and Dean immediately runs towards the source of the noise. Saved by the fucking bell.

Dean bursts through the door to the back studio only to slam into a mouthful of red hair.

“Hey Dean-o.” A gratingly saccharine voice challenges Dean’s will to live, “Here to save the day?”

Dean looks past the wall of hair to see his not-quite-arch nemesis teetering in a pair of stiletto fuck-me boots and not much else.

“Meg, always a pleasure. You here eating the souls of children?” Dean disentangles himself from what must be Anna, shooting her an apologetic glance. She’s kinda hot, too. Under different circumstances, he’d definitely want to bang her.

“Funny.” Meg’s smile twists into something a little more malicious. “I was actually teaching your boyfriend how to work a pole. Apparently you never showed him.”

Dean nearly chokes. “Boyfriend?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Did Cas’ voice get deeper overnight? He definitely sounds a little breathless, but that might just be Dean projecting.

Cas is in a heap on the ground, tangled up with the short stack who paid for his dance last night. Both of them are in states of undress; Cas has a fistful of the little dude's shirt in his grasp, and his own shirt is entirely missing.

Holy shit. Dean’s supposed to be the stripper, but this guy looks like he could make serious bank taking his clothes off for money. Dean knew the dude had to be toned but, fucking hell. His hip bones could probably cut glass. And is that a cute little freckle near his nipple? Is Dean staring? Dean is definitely staring.

“Hey, Cas.”

Meg mutters something to Anna and they actually fucking giggle. Fucking Meg.

“Um, what are you doing here, bud?" Dean internally cringes. _Bud_ , really? Is he trying to sabotage himself?

“I’m learning to pole dance. It’s one of Anna’s bachelorette weekend activities.” Cas pushes himself up of the ground and schools himself into ramrod stiff posture. He looks around nervously, “I’m not very good.”

“I was trying to make you better!” The small dude yells from the floor. “Your moves suck, but the least you can do is woo them with your bod.”

“Who exactly am I trying to woo, Gabriel? You? My sister? The instructor?”

“Yeah, you’re making me all dewy,” Meg scoffs.

Dean rolls his eyes and lands ‘em back on Cas’ very exposed chest. He lets his eyes slide across Cas’ collarbone, down the sides of his cut stomach, lowering down to those perfect hips where- Wait a second.

“Did you know you’re bleeding?”

Cas looks down to where Dean’s pointing. A trickle of blood is rolling down his right hip.

“Oh. I must have injured myself in the scuffle.”

“Don’t worry about it, dude. I know where the first aid kit is in here.” Dean hooks a thumb over his shoulder and makes for the door, “Follow me.”

  
\-----

  
Cas follows Dean to the dressing room at the back of the club and motions for Cas to take a seat.

“You know,” Dean starts conversationally as he opens the first aid kit, “I never did get that private show.”

Cas’ eyes bug a little, “I apologize. Balthazar-”

“Is he your-”

“Friend. Just a friend”

“Right,” Dean nods to himself and tries to suppress a smile.

Dean uses some fresh gauze to dab at the scrape on Cas’ hip. It’s nothing serious, just a little road rash, probably from rolling around on the stage topless.

The wound cleaned, he lets his hands linger on Cas’ heated skin. It’s soft and smooth and tiny goosebumps start to rise under Dean’s fingertips.

“Dean,” Cas breathes. His eyes are shut and his head is tipped back, exposing the clean lines of his long neck. Dean wants to lick the length of it.

“You like that?” Dean whispers.

“Yes.”

“Do you want more?”

Cas’ eyes open and his breath hitches, “Yes.”

“Then you need to work for it.” Dean puts his hand behind Cas’ head and tilts it towards him, “Switch places with me.”

Cas stands and lets Dean take his seat. Dean considers taking off his shirt as well, but he decides that, for once, he’ll be the fully clothed participant.

“Now, you promised me a dance.”

Cas’ eyes are fixed directly on Dean’s. His chest is rising and falling with heavy, labored breaths. A beautiful pink blush starts to bloom across Cas’ exposed skin. Dean can’t wait to have that perfect body moving just for him.

“There’s no music.” Cas points out.

Dean fumbles in his pocket and pulls out his phone. He pulls open the Songza app and tosses it to Cas. “Find something on there.”

Cas scrolls through for a moment, then a small smirk pulls at his lips. The opening of _Ready for Love_ fills the air.

“Feeling nostalgic?” Dean smirks.

Cas doesn’t answer. Instead, he places his hands on the front of his thighs and starts to move his hips from side to side. Cas is… terrible at it. His hips jerk completely out of time with the slow beat and he keeps thrusting his crotch back and forth apropos of nothing.

Cas shakes his hands over his head like he’s mixing spray paint; or jerking dicks. Then he’s bending backwards in a way that looks way more uncomfortable than sexy. Oh god, and he keeps kicking his feet out to the side in these tiny aborted motions.

Cas is the worst fucking dancer Dean’s ever seen; and he used to judge Tequila Tuesday’s amateur hour at The Bunker.

The look of sheer determination and concentration on Cas’ face is the only thing keeping Dean from bursting into laughter. The guy is trying so hard, but failing so spectacularly.

Dean schools his face into something that he hopes is encouraging and gestures for Cas to get closer to him. Dean grabs his hips firmly and pulls Cas down until he’s straddling Dean’s lap. Cas’ brow furrows in adorable confusion.

Dean places a reassuring kiss to Cas’ lips, “It’s called a _lap_ dance, Cas.”

Before Cas can continue with his horrible moves, Dean takes charge. He uses his grip on Cas’ hips to roll Cas in a slow circle that actually matches the sensual tempo of the song. Fuck, his ass feels like Heaven. Dean’s back on track to being unfairly turned on.

Dean locks eyes with Cas, asking silent permission to keep going. Cas bites his lip and exhales through his nose, nodding once. Dean cants his hips upwards, letting Cas feel the full press of his rapidly hardening cock.

Dean lets his hands slide down to tease at the waistband of Cas’ pants. He ghosts his fingertips on the heated skin underneath, teasing at the top of Cas’ ass. Cas’ eyes slip to half-mast and he lets out the prettiest little moan that Dean’s ever heard.

Dean thrusts against Cas. Cas gasps a sharp inhale and throws his head back. Dean licks at the hollow of Cas’ throat; lets his tongue glide across Cas’ soft, salty skin. A low groan escapes Cas’ parted lips. Dean responds by nipping at the collarbone, causing Cas to whimper.

The noises that Cas are making; Dean’s barely holding it together. He probably hasn’t been this hard since he was a teenager. Cas pushes down against Dean, and Dean can feel that Cas is just as into this as he is. He splays his hands across the expanse of Cas’ strong back, needing to pull him closer, just as the song switches to _Whole Lotta Love_.

“Dean,” Cas groans. The deep sound rumbles through his chest and vibrates straight down to Dean’s throbbing cock. This fucker is gonna have Dean coming in his pants like a goddam schoolboy. “Oh, fuck, Dean.”

Dean takes advantage of the increased energy of the song to speed up his movements. He starts rolling his hips up against Cas in earnest, holding Cas tighter against his chest. He kisses Cas hard, trying to steal his breath right out of his lungs. Dean is desperate to take everything that Cas is willing to give him.

“Fuck, Dean, I want you to come.” Cas locks eyes with Dean and pants into his mouth, “Come for me, Dean.”

Just like that, Dean is spilling into his underwear. He clutches Cas against him and rides the wave of his orgasm, with the rumbling bass of Zep punctuating his ecstasy. Dean’s pretty sure he’s never felt this good before, and he never even took off his clothes.

Dean lets his head fall onto Cas’ shoulder and tries to compose himself. He should be embarrassed that it was over so soon, but he’s too fucking blissed out.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice cuts through the fog of Dean’s brain.

Dean looks up into lust-blown eyes; holy fuck Cas looks debauched. Dean lets a hungry smile stretch across his lips. He places a hand in the center of Cas’ chest and pushes gently, “Back up, Cas.”

Cas obliges, scrambling to get up from Dean’s lap. He stands in front of Dean, pants straining and gorgeous, flushed chest heaving. Dean reaches out and starts to undo Cas’ belt.

“What are you doing, Dean?” Cas looks kinda worried, so Dean kisses his stomach.

“You just had me coming in my goddam pants, Cas.” Dean looks up at him from under heavy eyelids, “I don’t wanna ruin yours too.”

Cas shivers, and Dean takes that as his cue. He drops Cas’ pants and boxers in a single move and, damn, Cas’ cock is gorgeous. It’s flushed and hard and leaking. Dean’s completely spent, but the sight has his own cock making a valiant effort at a comeback.

“Awesome.”

Cas opens his mouth to respond, but only groans when Dean licks a stripe up the length of Cas’ cock. Dean grips the base, letting his tongue play with the head. He presses his lips against Cas in light almost-kisses and blows soft breaths of air across the glistening tip. He barely moves his hand, wanting to take it slow and savour Cas for as long as possible.

“Dean,” Cas moans, “I need more.”

Dean can’t deny Cas anything; he closes his lips around Cas’ thick shaft, hollows his cheeks, and begins to bob his head to the pace of the song. He lets his hands drift back to Cas’ ass and grip the solid muscle beneath.

Jesus fuck, Cas has the firmest ass Dean’s ever had the very happy pleasure to touch. He lets his blunt fingernails dig in, dragging an-honest-to-fuck growl out of Cas.

Dean has thoughts of dying like this; wrapped around Cas, pulling sweet sounds out of his gorgeous lips. If he could die with Cas’ dick in his mouth, it would be a life well spent.

Dean starts to hum at the thought, and suddenly Cas is tensing up under him. His hands fall to cup the back of Dean’s head. He doesn’t pull him closer, just holds Dean where he is.

Cas spills down Dean’s throat and Dean fucking loves it.

As soon as he’s spent, Cas nearly collapses against Dean. His fingers start to absently card through Dean’s hair. Dean smiles at the touch; he hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

“So,” Cas sighs. “Are you working tonight?”

Dean huffs a laugh. Way to be subtle, Cas. “Why, you haven’t seen enough of me yet?”

If it’s even possible, Cas’ blush deepens. If his cock wasn’t still brushing against Dean’s neck, he’d almost think this was awkward.

“No, man. I’m not working tonight. Club’s closed on Sundays.”

“Oh.” Cas backs away and starts to pull up his pants. Dean thinks he almost looks a little disappointed.

“You don’t have to come to the club to see me, Cas.”

Cas looks surprised.

“You’ve already seen me naked. I’ve had your cock in my mouth, what? Ten seconds ago? Don’t make this weird.”

“Weird?”

Dean puts his hand out and makes a grabbing motion. “Give me your fucking phone, you dweeb.”

Cas stares at Dean, but obliges. Dean pulls up the contacts and punches in his number.  
Cas takes the phone back and squints at the screen.

“Dean with a smiley face,” Cas reads.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean rubs self-consciously at his neck. He guesses it’s his turn to make this fucking weird, “‘Cause you make me happy.”

Dean can’t help staring at the way Cas’ whole face lights up. Dopey dork has this cute, gummy smile. Cas breaks into a laugh that echoes throughout the room.

Yeah, Dean is gonna need more of this.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the beautiful [Beka](http://agirlfromottawa.tumblr.com/) and the gals in ongoingdestielchat.
> 
> I can be found at [viscouslover.tumblr.com](http://viscouslover.tumblr.com/).


End file.
